Worth it?
by crazyredhead93
Summary: Neal is kidnapped on the job while trying to retrieve paintings from a ruthless art thief, and Peter must save him before it's too late. Bad summary, better one inside. Rated T for some language and Neal whumping. Complete!
1. Chapter 1

Summary: While trying to retrieve stolen paintings from a ruthless art theif, Neal is taken hostage. Peter races to find his partner, but this time, it might be up to Neal to save himself.

Rating: T to be safe. Mild whumping, some language.

Disclaimer: I (unfortunately) do not own _White Collar _or any of the characters, except for the ones I created. This is just for fun, no copyright infringement intended.

*****

Neal Caffrey winced as another blow struck him in the torso. He ached all over, and was pretty sure that he had fractured at least one rib. He winced in anticipation of another punch, but it never came. Instead, his captor put his face close to Neal's and whispered, "If you just tell me what I want to know, this will all be over." The man's breath was hot and foul, and Neal twisted his face away. The movement caused a sharp pain in his neck and he winced.

"If I tell you, then you'll kill me, so what purpose does that serve?" Neal asked. He struggled once more against the cuffs that bound his wrists, but they were too tight. He mentally cursed himself for not bringing a lock picking kit, or at least a hairpin. He would have been out of those cuffs and on the next flight back to New York already if he had just remembered to stick a hairpin in his pocket.

"Maybe," the man breathed, "But it'll be a quick death, I promise. And unless you want to end up like her," he gestured to the prone figure of a woman on the other side of the room. She hadn't moved since the men keeping them captive had brought her back thirty minutes ago, and Neal was beginning to wonder if they'd brought back a corpse. "You'll tell me what I want to know."

Neal tried to think of a con, a distraction, anything to get him out of this situation, but he came up empty. _What I wouldn't give for a gun right now_, he thought. "Go to hell," he spat at the man.

The blow knocked Neal to the ground and he saw stars. He could almost hear Peter saying, _C'mon Neal, is it really worth your life?_

"Mr. Caffrey." It was a new voice now, one that made Neal shudder. "This isn't worth dying for. We know you kept a stash from your old life; artwork, bonds, money, all the fruits of your crimes. Just tell us where it is and we'll let you go."

"And her, Gadson? Does she get a free pass?" Neal nodded towards the woman.

"She dies either way." The new man said blithely, "I'm offering you a chance to save yourself, Mr. Caffrey. What's your answer?"

**24 hours earlier**

Neal's head shot up as his partner, Agent Peter Burke, slammed a mug of coffee onto his desk. "Good morning sunshine, sleep well?" Peter asked, obviously happy at having annoyed Neal so early in the morning.

"How can you even drink that stuff?" Neal asked with disgust, pointing to the coffee. It was from the communal coffee pot in the office, which Neal made a habit of avoiding at all costs. "It tastes, and looks, like mud."

"Well we can't all drink cappuccino on our balconies in the mornings, now can we?" Peter asked, pulling a chair up to his desk and sitting down. "This is was hard-working people drink."

"Why do you keep saying that like it's a good thing?" Neal asked, "Working hard just so you can drink crappy coffee." He smirked and put his feet up on the desk.

Before Peter could respond, the phone in his office rang. He raised a finger up to silence Neal as he answered, "Burke."

"Stay here," he said after he hung up the phone. "And don't touch anything!" He yelled over his shoulder as he walked out of the office.

"Don't touch anything," Neal mimicked as he pulled out a bouncy-ball he had found on Peter's desk and started flinging it against the wall. "What am I, five?"

Meanwhile, Peter walked into the conference room where Lauren Cruz and Clinton Jones were already seated with files open on the table in front of them. Reese Hughes, Peter's boss, nodded by way of greeting as Peter pulled himself into a chair and opened the file in front of his seat. There were pictures of several pieces of artwork that Peter would bet three month's salary wouldn't pay for, and a shot of three men loading a truck with boxes of various sizes.

"Mitchell Gadson, British national." Hughes said, cutting right to the chase. He pointed to the man off to the edge of the photo. "Suspected of stealing at least thirteen paintings from various locations and forgery on who knows how many counts.

"This photo was taken last week in Florida, and that truck," he tapped the picture, "was seen in New York yesterday."

"You think Gadson's trying to fence the artwork?" Jones asked.

"We know he's trying to fence it." Hughes said.

"We just don't have the evidence to grab him." Peter finished, that was why white collar criminals were so hard to grab. They got smarter, hid the evidence, and made it almost impossible to grab them.

"Exactly. Which is why we need to catch him in the act." Hughes knocked on the glass to catch Neal's attention. "Time to put your boy to work," he said as Neal walked towards the conference room.

**Present**

Neal had been alone for an hour, the man with the bad breath and Gadson had left him and the woman alone after he'd refused to give up after the third beating. For all he knew, they were going to leave him to rot down there.

"Why didn't you give it up?" A voice rasped from the corner. Neal turned his head in surprise. He had thought the woman was dead. "Your life is worth a hell of a lot more than some paintings."

"I thought you were dead." Neal said in a deadpan voice.

"Obviously I'm not." She pulled herself into a sitting position, and Neal could see bruises forming on her legs. He was almost glad her face was covered by the shadows from the poor lighting; it was probably a gruesome sight. "And you didn't answer my question."

"I'm saving it for something…someone else. She's more important." Neal answered after a while.

"I hope your girl knows that you care about her more than your own life," she said, "Because if you don't give them what they want, they're going to kill you."

***

A/N- So that's it, please review, and tell me if you want me to finish!


	2. Chapter 2

**Eighteen Hours Ago**

"So which alias are you using?" Mozzie asked Neal as he downed another swig from the wine bottle.

"Paul Richards, the rich antiques dealer from Maine. He likes buying paintings, especially surrealism, which seems to be what Gadson deals in." Neal answered, as he paced the room. Mozzie had been in the apartment when he'd gotten home from the FBI and Neal had immediately begun to tell him about his next 'assignment.' The FBI had already set up a buy, and he was supposed to meet Gadson, make sure the paintings were real, and get the hell out when the FBI stormed the place.

Neither of the conmen were strangers to Mitchell Gadson, the man was a legend, both for his conning ability and his propensity for violence, and that made Neal nervous. If things got out of hand, there was no guarantee that Gadson wouldn't just pull out a gun and shoot him through the head. Neal had tried to tell Peter, but Hughes had cut him off, saying that Neal didn't get to pick and choose his assignments. He would take the case or he would be behind bars the next day.

"Richards, I remember him," Mozzie slurred fondly, he was definitely getting a little drunk. "He owned a yacht and vineyard. One of your better aliases if I do say so myself."

"Let's hope he's good enough to fool Gadson." Neal said. He stopped pacing and looked at his watch. "Peter should be waiting outside."

"Give him my best," Mozzie yelled drunkenly as Neal ran out the door. "And tell him that if you die, I'm holding him personally responsible!"

"Thanks Moz, very reassuring!" Neal called back.

Peter was waiting in the car as Neal rushed out the front door. Breathless, the conman slid into the passenger seat. "Anxious?" Peter asked, genuinely concerned. He wasn't happy with putting his partner into such danger, but Hughes had left no room for argument.

"I just want this over with," Neal said, not looking at Peter. He wasn't mad at the FBI agent, just frustrated with the situation.

"Alright," Peter said, picking up on the hint to drop the matter. After a few minutes of awkward silence, he said, "So, Elizabeth wanted to know if you wanted to come over for dinner tomorrow. She's making pot roast."

Neal smiled; Elizabeth Burke was an amazing cook. "I might just have to take you up on that offer," he answered.

"So I'll tell her around eight?" Peter asked, quickly glancing at his partner. Neal looked much more at ease than when they had left his house, which was a good sign. If he was too nervous when he went to meet Gadson, it would make it even more likely that everything would go downhill.

"Sounds good."

The rest of the car ride was quiet and uneventful, and they arrived a few blocks from the meeting point, where Lauren and Jones were waiting with a pair of scissors and another tracking wristwatch. Lauren pointed to Neal's ankle and he grudgingly lifted up his pant leg so that she could cut off the tracking anklet. Meanwhile, Jones fastened the watch to Neal's wrist.

"Alright, you know the drill." Peter said, "You turn off the watch if they search for bugs, otherwise you leave it on at all times or we come in there and arrest both you and Gadson. Am I clear?" Neal nodded and Peter popped the trunk of the car and pulled out the briefcase with money for the exchange. "I want this back at all costs," he said, handing it to Neal, "Or it's my head. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly," Neal smiled.

"Alright then, the meeting's in that warehouse," Peter pointed to a spot about three-hundred yards down the road. "You just need to see the paintings and make sure that they're real, and then we'll do the rest."

Neal nodded, straightened his jacket, and began walking down towards the warehouse. "And Neal, one more thing!" Peter called. Neal turned around as Peter said, "Be safe."

***

Neal walked confidently through the doors of the warehouse. Despite Peter's worries; he was quite good at keeping his anxiety about the meeting hidden.

There were several men stationed around the interior, placed at strategic points to guard the man and the truck in the center. Neal ignored the muscle and walked towards the man in charge. He was accompanied by a small, attractive woman in a pantsuit that Neal could tell was expensive. She held a small pocketbook in her hand, with a bored expression on her face. Neal couldn't tell if she was a buyer or Gadson's girlfriend.

"Mitchell Gadson, I presume." Neal said, sticking a hand out, which Gadson ignored.

"Mister Richards," Gadson answered curtly. "I hope you don't mind, but I would like to finish this as quickly as possible. These days, you just don't know who's watching." Gadson turned back towards the truck and motioned for the man standing guard at the doors to open it. He then turned back to Neal. "I would like to introduce you to Miss Duchene; she is also in the market for…rare paintings."

"Among other things," the woman said, nodding to Neal. She had a lilting British accent, which Neal had not expected. "It's a pleasure Mister Richards."

Neal smiled, had it been any other time he would have already been flirting with her, but given the situation, he was a bit too nervous. Instead he just shook her hand and turned back to the truck. Gadson was unloading paintings from the back, and all Neal would have to do was verify that the paintings were the ones that had been stolen and the FBI would come rushing in to save the day. At least, that was the plan.

What actually happened went something like this: Gadson unloaded the paintings from the truck and was about to uncover them when one of his guards signaled to him. Immediately, everyone in the room, excluding Neal, Duchene, and Gadson, pulled out a weapon, and aimed it towards the unarmed pair in the center. Gadson stepped nonchalantly out of the way of fire.

"I've just received some troubling news," Gadson said amicably, not looking troubled at all. "It seems that there are some men outside my warehouse from the FBI, and they would like very much to take me into custody."

"And what, you think it was one of us?" Duchene asked incredulously. "That's absurd. Is there somewhere I can drop complaints about customer service."

"Miss Duchene, I would suggest that you remain silent." Gadson said, reaching into his pocket. "If it's any consolation, it's not you that I suspect." He pulled out a gun, cocked it, and aimed the barrel at Neil's head. "Now Mr. Caffrey, if you'd be so kind as to surrender the watch on your wrist, and any other bugs your friends at the FBI gave to you, this would go much more smoothly."

Neal glared at Gadson as he unhooked the watch and threw it to the ground. Gadson stomped on the watch, and pointed the gun once more at Neal. "It's a shame, Mr. Caffrey. Under other circumstance, I would have been honored to do business with you." He fingered the trigger. "It's a shame to have to kill such a brilliant conman."

Neal closed his eyes as Gadson pulled the trigger.

***

A/N- Sorry, I'm a big fan of cliffhangers, and that was just too perfect a spot. Anyway, I'll try to update this ASAP, but I can't make promises, seeing as schoolwork keeps getting in the way. At the very least, I'll have Chapter 3 up this week.


	3. Chapter 3

Peter was already half way out of the van when he heard the gunshot. As soon as Gadson had called Neal's bluff, Peter had grabbed his gun and lunged towards the door. Jones and Lauren followed suit, and were climbing onto the street as the sharp, unmistakable sound of gunfire rang from the warehouse.

"Dammit," Jones said and pulled his walkie-talkie out of his pocket. "Send in the backup, shots fired. Agent possibly down."

_Why didn't we send in backup, another trained agent?_ Peter silently asked himself as he ran towards the warehouse. _Sending Neal in was a stupid move, and we all knew it. I should have tried harder to get him off the case._

Peter drew his gun and prepared to enter the warehouse. He slowed down; running in half-assed would do nothing more than get him, and Neal, if he was still alive, killed. Before he could bust down the door, however, five trucks sped out through a garage door on the side of the warehouse and almost plowed him down. The trucks immediately broke off into different directions as they raced away.

Lauren reached Peter first and watched the trucks with dismay. "The man's smart. He knew we'd track the truck he left in, so he took five."

Peter nodded. Five trucks, five times as hard to track, Gadson was smart. "Get all the footage from cameras in this area. I want to know where each of those trucks went."

Lauren nodded and relayed the information through her radio. "So what do we do now?" She asked, looking around.

"We go look for clues." Peter said, pointing to the warehouse. "They ran off in a hurry; chances are that they left something behind." He only hoped that something wasn't a body.

The three agents entered the warehouse with their weapons drawn, but it was empty, to Peter's relief, there were no bodies left behind. That relief was short lived; he very well knew that Gadson could have taken the body with him.

They set out to canvas the area, looking for anything that could lead to Gadson and Neal. Despite the hurry, it looked like the thieves hadn't left anything behind. There were no signs that anyone had even been in the warehouse.

"Peter," Jones called out. He was squatting on the floor, shining a light. Peter walked over and blanched. The unmistakable splatter of blood stained the floor, and he had to turn away. "I'm sorry Peter." Jones said sympathetically.

"That doesn't mean he's dead." Peter said vehemently.

Jones remained silent, not wanting to point out that Gadson really had no reason to keep Neal alive.

Peter silently returned to trying to find any trace of Mitchell Gadson, anything he might have been sloppy enough to leave behind, but he kept coming up empty. He was on his third sweep when he heard the sound of a door on the opposite side of the warehouse being opened.

"Jones," Peter hissed quietly. "Did we have any men on the west side of the warehouse?"

"No, just the east." Jones whispered back.

"Well then," Peter pulled his gun out of its holster once again. "We've got company."

***

_Gadson's finger twitched on the trigger, but as he fired, Duchene leapt from where she was standing, knocking into Gadson's arm and throwing the shot wide. Gadson cursed as he instinctively swung around and smashed the woman on the head with his gun. She crumpled._

_ Neal backed away from Gadson with his hands raised. He backed straight into one of Gadson's goons, who grabbed his arm and held him fast. Gadson nodded to the man, who promptly smacked Neal with the butt of his gun. _

The truck bounced over a particularly nasty pothole, jerking Neal awake. His head throbbed painfully, and his hands were cuffed behind his back, almost cutting off the circulation. He turned his head to take account of the interior of the truck, three walls and a door that locked from the outside. Not much chance for escape there. The interior was empty save for him and Duchene (although by now he was relatively certain that wasn't her real name) and there were no visible signs of escape.

Neal shook his head to clear it, but his thoughts were still foggy. He grimaced; the gun had left a sizeable dent in his forehead.

"It stops after a while." Neal looked up to see Duchene staring at him. Her British accent had dropped, giving way to a flat American accent, with a tinge of Philadelphia drawl. So that made it even more likely that Duchene wasn't her real name. "The pain, I mean. It's the concussion you've got to worry about."

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind." Neal said sarcastically, and immediately regretted it. If it weren't for the woman across from him, whoever she was, he would have a small caliber bullet lodged in his brain, and the FBI would be planning his funeral. "Sorry, I didn't mean to…"

"It's fine," she said nonchalantly. "I'll let it pass, seeing as you were just shot at."

They lapsed into silence for a few moments, before Neal asked, "So what's your real name? I'm assuming it's not Duchene."

"Ava Hannigan. NYPD," She answered.

"Nice to meet you Ava, I'm…"

"Neal Caffrey, I know who you are. Four years ago, you were all our Major Case squad could talk about. Then you got caught by Peter Burke. Now, it seems, either Mitchell Gadson is sadly mistaken, or you're working for the very same people who locked you in a cell in maximum security." Neal was taken aback; he definitely hadn't expected Hannigan to know so much about him.

"Fan of art thieves?" He asked.

She scoffed and looked at him, "I couldn't care less about arresting someone for stealing a canvas covered in water colors, which more often than not doesn't even look like anything. What I care about is Mitchell Gadson and making sure that that creep is locked up for good."

Her tirade caught Neal off guard. He had assumed that she was there for the same reason he was, to recover the stolen paintings. "I guess you weren't going there to arrest him for forgery then." Neal said meekly.

"Art's not the only thing Gadson deals in." Hannigan spat venomously. "He makes a tidy profit in human trafficking, too."

***


	4. Chapter 4

***

Peter, Jones, and Lauren pointed their guns towards the approaching figures. The gloom in the warehouse made it difficult to make out anything more than profiles. The people would have to come a lot closer for Peter to distinguish any features, and he wasn't willing to let them get that close.

"FBI, stay where you are." Peter shouted, and he and the other two agents stood ready to fire.

"NYPD Organized crime!" A female voice called back. Peter moved cautiously towards the voice until he could see a female figure holding an NYPD badge in front of her. Her gun was still holstered at her side, as were the weapons of the other two officers flanking her. Peter lowered his gun and motioned to Lauren and Jones to do the same.

"This is a federal case, not a police case; an FBI agent was taken from this location, along with several pieces of stolen artwork," Peter said. Jones looked at Peter questioningly, he could tell that Peter was still denying the fact that Neal was probably dead, but he said nothing.

"Then I guess we have something in common," the detective said. "My partner was taken, too. I'm pretty sure that gives me a right to be here."

"Let me guess," Peter said, "Her alias was Duchene?" He had heard Neal and Gadson's conversation over the bug, which Gadson had destroyed after he had fired the gun.

The woman nodded, "Her name is Ava Hannigan. I'm Detective Tanner Johnson, and this is Detective Michael Rodriguez," she pointed to the taller of the two men, "and Jacob Morgan."

"Peter Burke," he pointed to the other two. "Clinton Jones and Lauren Cruz, FBI white collar division. It's nice to meet you Detective Johnson."

***

Neal glanced up as the back door of the truck opened. They had been stopped for the last half hour, and Neal was beginning to worry that Gadson and his men had just decided to ditch them with the truck. He tried to raise his hand to block the sunlight streaming in, forgetting that his hands were stilled tied behind his back. The light was painful to look at after being in a dark truck for so long.

"Get out," a voice with a thick Mexican accent ordered. Neal tried to stand up but couldn't. The combination of a concussion, having his hand tied behind his back, and having been sitting for the last few hours made his legs pretty much useless.

"Actually, I kind of like it better in here." Neal said, although he knew that the man wouldn't react well to that.

He was right; two men climbed into the truck and pulled him up roughly by his arms and out into the sunlight. A man with long, dirty hair stood with his hands clasped behind his back, watching Neal with amusement. Before Neal could even register what was happening, the man punched him in the gut. "That's the last time you're going to smart talk me," he said. Neal gasped, but remained silent. He wasn't a big fan of pain, and was definitely not looking for more.

"Detective Hannigan, you're next." Neal looked up in surprise and the man smirked. "Oh yes, we know about your little friend in there," he smiled as Ava was pulled out of the truck. "You'd be surprised what you can learn over a police scanner when a cop is kidnapped. They talk a lot." He looked Ava up and down, smiling a little. "You're a pretty little catch."

Ava stood straight and squared her shoulders. Standing a little less than five foot three and having her hands tied behind her back, she shouldn't have been very imposing, but the steely look in her eye was intimidating. "You lay a hand on me," she said, her voice low and menacing. "I bite it off."

The man smacked her across the face. "You will learn respect, both of you. You will tell Senor Gadson what he wishes to know, and then you will die. "

***

"We've been trying to catch Mitchell Gadson for almost a year now. He's been bringing people from all over eastern Asia and some parts of Europe. Unfortunately, he's a hard man to find. Until this week." Tanner Johnson had been briefing Peter and his team about Gadson and his extra-curricular activities.

"When he stole the paintings and left a trail." Peter finished. It was the same story for his division, just a different crime.

The two teams were sitting in Peter's office at the FBI, trying to make sense of what had happened at the warehouse. Peter was still waiting for the surveillance tapes from around the warehouse to come in; they needed to get started on tracking the trucks if they wanted to have any chance of finding Neal and Detective Hannigan.

"Why'd he get tripped up this time?" Lauren asked, taking a sip of her coffee. "He's stolen hundreds of paintings before, what's different about these ones?"

"And why kidnap a cop?" Detective Rodriguez asked. "I mean, that's suicide."

"He probably didn't know she was a cop; he only called Neal's bluff, not your detective's." Peter answered impatiently. He hated sitting in his office waiting for answers, but three more sweeps of the crime scene had turned up absolutely nothing and they had been forced to return back to the bureau.

"Why are we skirting around the obvious?" Jacob Morgan was sitting on the window sill, staring at the other people in the room with disbelief. "Neal Caffrey is a criminal and so is Gadson. It seems like faking a kidnapping, and maybe death, is the perfect way to throw people off his trail!"

Peter tensed, trying to keep calm. He knew that other people still saw Caffrey as a criminal, and while he may not fully trust Neal, Peter knew that he hadn't faked being kidnapped. It wasn't Neal's style, and as far as Peter knew, Neal still didn't know where Kate was, and he wasn't about to leave before he found her.

"That's bullshit," Peter said vehemently. "Neal didn't plan this!"

"Look, Agent Burke," Morgan said calmly, like he was talking to a petulant child, "I know you've grown fond of your pet convict, but like it or not, he's still a criminal. You gave him a little too much leash and he ran off."

"Neal doesn't take hostages," it was Lauren who answered this time. "He doesn't use violence in his crimes, never has, and I doubt Detective Hannigan would have just come quietly. It just doesn't fit with his previous crimes."

"The ones that you know of." Morgan muttered and turned back to the window.

"Jacob," Detective Johnson's voice was stern and left no room for argument. "Why don't we work on figuring out where they were taken first, and then point fingers later, because all arguing is going to do right now is get you punched in the face."

The phrase surprised Peter, he had never threatened to punch his team in the face for arguing, but Detective Rodriguez looked unsurprised. Morgan didn't respond, but Peter could see the detective hunch over like a child who had just been disciplined. Johnson shook her head and turned back to Peter. "Now, we still have some contacts, the ones who told us about the trafficking ring in the first place. Maybe they've heard something."

Peter nodded, it was a long shot, but they didn't have much to go on. "Alright, we'll track the trucks he ran with, and keep our eyes open for the stolen paintings. Maybe if we combine information we can find something."

"Alright," Johnson pulled out her business card and wrote a number on the back. "This is my personal number if you need to reach me." Peter followed suit, giving his number. "And Agent Burke?" Peter looked at Tanner to see her eyes watering a little. "I know how you feel. I lost a partner too."

"Don't worry," Peter answered, "We'll get them back."

***

**A/N**- Just a warning, until Christmas break (woot woot!) I probably won't be able to update because 'tis the time to overload with work, tests, and projects, but I hope you liked the update! ttfn


	5. Chapter 5

**Present**

"Ava," Neal called quietly across the small room. She had been silent for almost an hour, and he knew that if someone had a concussion, which she almost definitely did, they couldn't fall asleep for long periods of time. The last thing he wanted was for her to die on his watch. "Ava, you have to wake up."

She moaned, but Neal saw her feet shift as she pulled herself into a sitting position. "What is it?" She asked groggily. Her voice was slightly slurred, and Neal knew that wasn't a good sign.

"You fell asleep," he said softly, "and I thought, y'know..." He trailed off.

"Oh, thanks." She sounded slightly more alert, but with the weariness gone, he could hear the pain in her voice. It echoed the pain he felt all over his body. It had been almost ten hours since they'd been unloaded from the truck and Neal had quickly learned that Gadson's men were quite happy to beat him and Ava, oftentimes without a reason.

"Did I miss anything exciting?" Ava asked after a few moments of silence.

"You mean anymore visits from our big friends? Nope, it's been quiet for a little over an hour."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, relishing the time they spent outside the company of their captors. Neal's mind wandered to what Peter and his team were doing, if they were looking for him, or thought he was dead. He thought of Elizabeth, and the pot roast he was going to be missing tomorrow night. But mostly, he thought of Kate, and how the last time he had seen her, she had been barely visible, standing on a bridge four hundred yards from him. _That's not how I wanted to say goodbye_, he thought sadly. He wondered if whoever was keeping her captive would let him go when Neal died, there would be no need to keep her if there was no way to get his money.

"What's her name?" Ava asked suddenly, "The one who's keeping you from telling them where you hid your stolen treasure."

"Kate," Neal answered automatically. "Her name is Kate."

Before Ava could respond, the door banged open, making the two of them flinch. "Move it," a man's voice ordered, kicking Ava in the shin. "You've got an appointment."

***

Peter rubbed his face with exhaustion. He was ready to drive home and curl up in bed, but he couldn't leave the office, not if there was any chance that he might miss something while he was at home. They were tracking chatter between known art thieves and painstakingly piecing together the footage of the five trucks, trying to find the one holding Neal and Ava. Detective Johnson had been calling in every hour to update him on what they knew, which wasn't much. Peter knew that with every hour that passed, the possibility that Neal was alive dropped dramatically.

He picked up the phone and sighed, there was no point in putting it off any longer. He dialed and waited as it rang on the other end.

"Hello?" Elizabeth answered on the other end. She had been expecting the call; Peter was almost two hours late.

"Elizabeth," Peter swallowed, trying to figure out how to continue, "I'm probably not going to be coming home tonight."

"Honey, you've put in overtime every night this week, tells Hughes to give you a break and come home for dinner."

"Elizabeth, Neal's…" He choked off, and could hear his wife holding her breath on the opposite end. "Neal's been kidnapped."

Elizabeth choked back a sob, it was no secret that she was fond of Neal. "How? What happened?"

"An operation, it went badly and we couldn't get in there in time." Peter's voice sounded hollow to his ears, but he couldn't bring himself to tell her that Neal was probably injured, or even dead.

"Bring him back," was all she said, "Promise me that you will bring him back."

"I promise," he said before telling her goodbye and hanging up the phone. He turned back to the monitor of his computer, hoping that something, anything, would jump out at him, telling him where his partner was.

"Agent Burke." A young intern was standing outside Peter's door. "There's an incoming call in the video conferencing room. It's about that detective, Hannigan, I think it was."

Peter was out of his seat in a flash, and almost knocked the intern over in his mad rush out the door. "Get Detective Johnson in here ASAP," he called over his shoulder to the woman.

Lauren and Jones were already in the room, sitting at the table with cups of coffee in hand. Peter couldn't help but remember the argument he and Neal had had over the quality of office coffee just hours before. He shook his head and turned to the monitor, where a man stood, taking up almost the entire screen.

"Agent Burke," he smiled. The man's voice had a European accent which Peter couldn't place. "Nice of you to join us."

"Where's Detective Hannigan?" Peter asked, he didn't have the tolerance for banter at the moment.

"Is this the point where I'm supposed to tell you she's alive and well, for now?" The man asked sarcastically, and Peter's stomach plummeted. "Well, I can assure you she is alive, but the latter." He moved away from the camera to show Ava tied to a chair, "That not so much."

"Oh," Lauren gasped when she saw Ava. Blood was covering part of her face, and there was very little clear skin through the bruises. More bruises lined her arms, and disappeared up her sleeves, and a gag in her mouth, though Peter doubted she even had the energy to talk. Her eyes were barely focused; she was definitely in shock, or dangerously close to it. Peter was amazed and sickened that so much damage had been done in such a short period of time.

"My demands are simple, six million in unmarked bills by midnight tomorrow, or the beautiful detective dies."

Peter hesitated, "I'll see what I can arrange," he finally said, "If you let me talk to my partner." He was taking a stab in the dark, but he had to know if Neal was dead or alive.

"I assume you're speaking of Neal Caffrey?" Peter nodded. "Well that could be a bit tricky, seeing as your partner is dead. He died in the warehouse, Agent Burke. Any other terms you'd like to discuss." The man's face had taken on an ugly mask of pleasure as Peter's insides rolled. He could feel his lunch working its way back up as his brain processed the information. He had gotten Neal killed, him and the FBI's stupid operation. Lauren and Jones were looking sympathetically at him, but he couldn't meet their eyes.

"Well, if that's all, Agent Burke, I'm a very busy man and I have work to attend to."

"Wait," Peter was almost shaking with anger, but he managed to keep his voice somewhat steady. "You tell Mitchell Gadson, that when I find him, he's a dead man."

***

Ava squirmed violently as her captors brought her back to the cell she shared with Neal. She knew she didn't have a hope of escaping, but she wasn't going to make it is easy on Gadson's men.

The hallways the men led her down looked exactly the same, all an eggshell white, primer color. There was little chance that she'd be able to find her way out of the building if she ever managed to escaped the locked room they kept her in.

A cry of pain caught her attention and Ava twisted around to see a small, Pilipino girl being led down the opposite corridor. Her heart broke for the small child, who had probably left her country with the hope for a better life, and now she was a prisoner, just like Ava.

They finally reached the cold, cement door, and before she could react they had opened the door and thrown her onto the hard floor. Wincing in pain, Ava pushed herself into a sitting position and looked around the room. Her heart sank as she saw that it was completely empty. Neal was gone.

***

**Merry Christmas!! I hope you enjoyed this chapter!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Okay, there's a little more Neal whump in this chapter. You've been warned.**

Neal twisted around in the metal chair he had been strapped to for the last twenty minutes. After Ava had been taken away, two more large men had come in, hoisted him up, and dragged him away to yet another concrete room with no windows and apparently no heating. Gadson sat at the other end of the room, sipping what looked to be a cup of tea and watching Neal. After another five minutes, he stood up and began pacing.

"You know, I never quite understood the American obsession with coffee. It's bitter and tastes disgusting, and has almost no nutritional value. Tea, on the other hand, is a delicious beverage that provides nutrition and doesn't stain your teeth," Gadson said while sipping from the porcelain cup.

"Is this your new plan to torture me?" Neal asked wearily, "Bore me to death while talking about tea? Because if so, I give in right now." He was tired of the charades, tired of living in anticipation of pain. If Gadson was going to torture him, he wanted it over with.

Gadson smiled and placed the cup and saucer on the floor. He motion to the door, and it opened a crack. "Tell James I'm ready." The door closed again without a sound.

"That was cool." Neal smiled snarkily, "Let me guess, Jedi mind tricks?"

Gadson ignored Neal and continued pacing. "Mr. Caffrey, I am truly sorry it had to come to this. I have no doubt that you are an exquisite con artist, like me, and if it weren't for your unfortunate recent choices in friends, I'm sure we'd get along famously." He paused a second behind Neal and then continued walking. "Unfortunately, we must do our best with the cards we have been dealt by fate, and I intend to do just that."

The door opened once again, to reveal a tall, Caucasian man with a duffle bag, carrying a card table at his side. He unfolded the card table near the wall and set the duffle bag on top. "I'd like to introduce you to James Mason; he is a good personal friend of mine."

Neal chose to remain mute and looked elsewhere; he had a feeling that looking at the contents of the duffle bag would not make him feel any better.

"Now I don't know why you're holding on to the location of where you hid the fruits of your conning labors so tightly, but I can assure you, it is not worth the pain I am going to allow James to inflict on you, so I am going to give you one last chance to tell me. Where did you hide it? I want the paintings, the bonds the FBI didn't find, everything."

Neal was tempted, he wasn't afraid to admit that he did not want another torture session at the hands of Gadson, but his thoughts of Kate kept his mouth closed. Instead he glared at Gadson and spat on the floor. "Go to hell."

***

Lauren watched Peter's office door warily. After the call, Peter had locked himself inside and was now staring furiously at the computer screen. She knew that he had been holding onto the belief that Neal was still alive somewhere; and the man holding Ava Hannigan captive, whoever he had been, had stomped on that hope.

Her phone rang, startling her out of her reverie, "Lauren Cruz," she answered automatically.

An agent from the tech department was on the other end; he talked quickly and briefly, giving just the details of what he had found from the multiple videos of the truck. Two minutes later, Lauren was knocking on the conference room door excitedly. Tanner Johnson and Hughes were inside, reviewing the video clip of Ava, as the conference had ended before Tanner had arrived.

Hughes waved Lauren in just as the video clicked off. Even the second time, it still made Lauren sick to watch, but she shook off the feeling.

"Sir, the techs downstairs have reviewed all of the footage, and they've narrowed it down to two trucks, the other three were found in the city. The three drivers of those trucks were paid to wait at the warehouse, and then drive away. Agents have already checked their alibis. The two remaining trucks were headed south before we lost them on back roads without cameras, but the techs have the license plates and we can put a BOLO out on them." Tanner slumped visibly with relief at the news.

"Do it," Hughes said. Lauren nodded and turned away from the room. "And Lauren," Hughes called after her, "I'm sorry about Neal."

***

The card table was now covered with instruments that made Neal's stomach churn, even though he couldn't tell what the majority of them were used for. James had been silent since he'd entered the room, and Gadson had moved to the corner closest to the door, and was now watching with a sick anticipation spread across his face.

James turned to Neal, sized him up, and pulled out a baton with two prongs on the end. "Mr. Caffrey," James said, swinging the baton around in his hand. "Are you familiar with the picana?"

"Is that a type of musical instrument?" Neal asked. Right now, sarcasm was the only thing keeping him from being hysterical.

James only smiled at him. "I'm glad you can still joke now, maybe it will give you comfort in what's to come. And maybe it won't."

He slammed the prongs into Neal's leg, and Neal's vision almost went black from the pain. It radiated out from the metal tips throughout his whole body. Tightening his lips, he just barely managed to suppress a scream. His leg felt as if it were about to explode.

And then, as quickly as the pain had come, it was gone. Neal's vision slowly cleared, to show James still standing in front of him, watching Neal with a detached interest, like he was some kind of laboratory study.

"The picana is like a cattle prod," James explained, as he began circling Neal. "It was created in South America to maximize pain, but minimize damage. In short," he leaned closer, "It hurts more, but kills more slowly. Any questions?"

Neal shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. He had never been in so much pain in his life. Gadson was watching with mild amusement as he pushed himself away from the wall and started walking towards the door. "I really do wish that you had taken my previous offer, Mr. Caffrey. I assure you, this is not something I want to do." He pulled open the door and then looked at James. "Don't kill him. Yet."

James smiled and nodded, and as Gadson shut the door behind him, he struck Neal again. This time, Neal couldn't hold in the scream.

***

What seemed like days later, James stepped out of the room, 'for a break', he said. Neal ached over every part of his body, and he could feel a concussion setting in. He was on the verge of passing out, an option that seemed more and more appealing as time passed.

Vaguely, he heard the door open again off to the side and James entering, but the noise seemed unreal, disconnected from him. Somewhere in his subconscious, he knew that he was in danger, both from James and the concussion, but he was too tired to care. He was drifting farther and farther into unconsciousness and away from the pain when he felt a gentle hand on his arm.

"Don't stop fighting," said the painfully familiar voice. "Don't give in yet."

***

**Hooray for Christmas/ New Year's Break! I hope you liked the chapter! I'm not sold on the ending, so it might change, might not. **


	7. Chapter 7

"Kate?" Neal looked up towards the figure standing over him. It was impossible, she couldn't be here. "I'm hallucinating," he realized aloud, "You're not real."

The rest of the room had taken on an almost ethereal glow, and James was nowhere to be found, even though Neal knew the man had entered just moments before.

Kate just smiled and looked at him sadly. "I miss you," she said quietly, "And if you give up here, I'll never see you again. You have to keep fighting them!"

"I can't," Neal said, realizing it was true. He had been pushed to his limit, one more minute with James or Gadson would probably break him. "I can't stand it anymore. What am I supposed to do?"

She laughed and patted him lightly on the head. "What you do best, silly: figure a way out."

"Yeah, that might be little bit hard," he rattled the handcuffs behind him, "See, handcuffs."

"All handcuffs have a key," Kate said, "all you have to do is find it."

"That's helpful," Neal said sarcastically. "You wouldn't happen to know where it is, would you?"

Kate's smile dropped, "Neal, I'm serious! They'll kill you either way! Even if you do tell them what they want, what's the point of keeping you alive? They're already going to kill Ava!" Her concern was written across her face, and Neal regretted snapping at her, even if he was hallucinating. "Promise me that you won't give up. I can't lose you, Neal."

Neal nodded, "I promise," he whispered, not caring that the Kate standing before him was a figment of his imagination.

The image of Kate was starting to fade as she bent over him. He felt her lips brush his cheek as she whispered, "I love you Neal."

***

The room snapped sharply back into focus as Neal regained consciousness. James was pacing the room agitatedly, staring at Neal with irritation, and Kate was nowhere to be found. Consciousness brought with it the pain that covered his whole body, but Neal was determined to fight through it. Imaginary or not, Kate was right; Gadson had no reason to let Neal live, giving Neal no reason to cooperate with the man. He was more determined than ever not to let his captors destroy him.

For the first time, he really looked around the room for a means of escape, even as James began pacing around him. None of the various instruments James had looked to be of any use in escaping and the rest of the room was bare; there was hardly even dust in the corners.

"What are you looking for, Mr. Caffrey?" James asked quietly as he noticed Neal glancing around the room. "There is no redemption in this room but for you to tell me what I want to know."

Neal remained mute; his best chance to escape was to get out of this room first, and antagonizing James was only going to lead to more beatings. Through the lingering fog of his concussion concussion, a plan was forming; a plan riddled with holes, but a plan nonetheless.

"Where's that sarcasm now, Mr. Caffrey?" James inquired as he stood in front of Neal. "Does your silence mean that you are ready to talk?"

It took all his willpower, but Neal bit back a retort. Instead, he looked through James towards the door, keeping his expression as blank as possible.

"Oh dear, I do hope that the pain has not addled your mind." James was beginning to look worried at that prospect. No doubt Gadson wouldn't like it if he mentally handicapped the prisoner. "That would be very troublesome for me."

James then walked over to the door and knocked twice. Two thugs who looked to have an IQ of fifty between the two of them walked into the room and James gestured towards Neal.

"Take him back with the other one." Turning towards his captive he said, "I will see you again in two hours. I hope for your sake that you have found your tongue by then; else there will be no reason to keep you alive any longer."

***

Peter looked up from his desk as Jones knocked on the doorframe to his office. For the first time since that morning, Jones had an almost hopeful expression on his face.

"What is it?" Peter asked tiredly. The day had taken a toll on all of the agents, but Peter was taking it the hardest. After all, he had lost his partner.

"They found the truck."

In a flash, Peter was out of his seat. "Where?" The idea of finding the men who had killed Neal and kidnapped Detective Hannigan was all that was keeping the FBI agent going.

"On an old highway by the New Jersey border. The local uniforms say that it's empty, but there's blood all over the inside of the truck, and they found some fingerprints too. The license plate matches one of the trucks that ran from the warehouse this morning.

" There're cameras all over the highway, so there's a good chance they caught something. We're having the footage shipped over now, and a team is heading out to check out the scene."

"I'll go with them." Peter grabbed his coat off a chair and brushed past Jones into the hallway. "You and Lauren are with me."

Jones followed Peter and Lauren fell in step beside him.

"Where's Detective Johnson?" Peter asked as they stepped into the elevator.

Lauren stabbed the parking button as she answered, "She's waiting for us downstairs with Detective Rodriguez; Detective Morgan is staying here to wait for the footage."

The three agents stepped out of the elevator as the doors opened, and into the dark parking garage. Tanner and Rodriguez were waiting by the door. Tanner's keys were jingling in her pocket as she tapped her foot impatiently.

"Ready?" She asked.

"Let's go."

***

A large arm jerked Neal upwards and out of the chair. The arm belonged to the thug Neal had nicknamed Brains, because he had once heard the man utter a coherent sentence, whereas his partner, henceforth known as Brawn, only seemed to communicate with grunts. The sudden motion made Neal wince, but he kept quiet as he was dragged through the hallway. His mind was too focused on escaping to pay attention to the pain.

As they reached the halfway point between the James's torture chamber and Neal's cell, Neal began shaking uncontrollably. As Neal had hoped he would, Brains let go of his arms in surprise and Neal dropped to the floor. The charade seizure allowed him to move his bound hands to a position where they could furtively search both men's pockets as they knelt down to steady him. As quickly as he had started, he stopped shaking and laid still, eyes closed.

"Someone should talk to James about giving his 'projects' brain damage," Brains said as he hoisted Neal up again and began walking. Brawn grunted in agreement, and Neal heard the click of a door opening. "Hey honey, we brought your friend back." Brains' voice was sickly sweet as he threw Neal onto the floor.

Ava gasped, and Neal could only imagine how he must look in his present state, but he kept his eyes closed. He wanted to reassure her that he was for the most part alright, but he couldn't make a move until the men were out of the room.

The door slammed shut, and the click of a lock sounded through the cell. Neal finally opened his eyes and twisted around to look at Ava. "Miss me?" He asked, laughing at the horrified look on her face.

"I thought…you were…and then…" Ava sputtered as she tried to find the right words. "I thought you were dead," she finally said, tears creeping into her eyes. Her face was drawn with worry and Neal could see that she'd been roughed up since he'd left.

"Well, I'm happy to report that I am all in one piece not yet dead." Neal tried to keep his voice light as he twisted into a sitting position. The light was poor, but he could still see the bruises running up his arms. They were worse than he had imagined, but he tried to ignore them.

Ava's eyes narrowed. "I came back and you were gone, then after hours they bring you back, looking like you're dead, and now you're making jokes? What's wrong with you?" Her voice cracked as she scolded him with disbelief. Neal could only imagine that she though he was crazy right now.

"I'd rather be cracking jokes than dwelling on how my life sucks right now." Neal said.

"Yeah well, news flash, it does suck right now." Ava snapped angrily. "And I think you must've hit your head too hard."

"Well, thanks to an old friend, it's about to suck a bit less." He withdrew his hands from behind his back, the hand cuffs in one palm and a paperclip in the other. "It's amazing what some people keep in their pockets."

***

**I needed to write something happy, sorry for all you angst fans, but the story's not over yet! Hope you liked it.**

**And in other news, the era of crazy homework assignments and teachers, after school clubs, and various life sucking activities commences! Unfortunately real life might prevent me from posting as often as I'd like to, but I promise to try to type as quickly as possible :)**


	8. Chapter 8

"It's empty!" Peter slammed his palm against the side of the large, white truck as he peered inside. There was blood along the sides and the bottom, but other than that, there were no other clues as to where Gadson had taken Ava. The agents and detectives on the scene were going to have to wait for the Bureau to watch the footage on the cameras around the road.

"The local uniforms said that there wasn't much," Lauren said in response as she climbed out of the truck's cabin. "I'm guessing that they took the paintings in another truck, wouldn't want the blood ruining priceless artwork."

"Is there still a BOLO out on the other truck?" Jones asked from inside the truck. His voice echoed eerily off the sides.

"Yeah," Peter answered half-heartedly. The initial adrenaline rush of finding the truck had worn off quickly after stepping out of the car, and the fatigue of being up for twenty-plus hours was beginning to wear on him.

"Agent Burke," Tanner called out from across the road. Peter looked over to see a young woman standing next her, looking nervous. Tanner led the woman quickly across the street. "This is Reagan Mason; she says she saw the truck pull over in the afternoon, and some people were unloaded."

Reagan fidgeted under Peter's stare, looking very much like she wanted to be anywhere at that moment. Tanner nudged Reagan gently. "Just tell Agent Burke what you told me, Mrs. Mason."

After a few more seconds of hesitation, Reagan relayed the story, "I was walking back to my apartment when I saw that truck pull over to the side of the road. I didn't think much of it at the time, but a little while later, I looked out my window and saw men pulling two people out of the truck. They looked a little beat up, from what I could tell. A few minutes later they got into a car, a small greenish colored sedan, and drove that way." She pointed south down the road.

"And while you were so casually watching this, you didn't think to maybe help the people in the back of the truck?" Peter asked bitterly. He knew he was being harsh on the woman, but the overwhelming exhaustion sweeping him was making it hard to be civil.

"The men had guns, Agent Burke!" Reagan said, "Huge ones, I could see them from my window, and I've got a nine month old son! I didn't want to put him in danger!"

Peter was about ready to scream at the woman when something she had said clicked, draining the anger out of him. "You said there were two people," he said quietly.

Reagan looked confused, but nodded. "A woman and a man. Why?"

"The man, was he about average height with dark, wavy hair?" Peter asked anxiously.

"I guess, it was hard to see, but he definitely had dark hair. It didn't look like the men driving the truck liked him very much."

Tanner looked at Peter incredulously. "You don't think it's Neal, do you?"

"They told us he died in the warehouse." Peter answered softly, "But if he was alive in that truck, they obviously want him for something."

They let the woman go back to her house, looking shaken and utterly confused. Peter called Jones and Lauren over and relayed what Reagan had told them.

"So Neal could be alive?" Lauren asked for clarification, hardly daring to believe it. She had a soft spot for the conman, and wanted nothing more than to see him back safe. Him being alive would make that much easier.

"That's what it look like." Tanner smiled.

***

Back in their prison, Neal and Ava were semi-free, their hands finally released from the cuffs. Ava had never thought she'd be so happy to have full use of her hands, even if her wrists still burned from the chaffing of the manacles.

With the excitement of freeing himself and Ava wearing off, Neal was having trouble keeping his eyes open. Ava would wake him up every so often, wanting to make sure that he was okay, but mostly they sat in silence. There was no way to pick the lock from the inside, so he and Ava would have to improvise when the chance for escape came.

When Ava woke him from unconsciousness for the fourth time, Neal knew that there wasn't much time before Brains and Brawn came back to deliver him to James, and Gadson would probably be coming to pick Ava up for another tele-conference with the FBI. Ava had told him that the FBI now thought he was dead, but Neal had to hope that they were coming for Ava.

Ava sat with her head in her hands as Neal pushed himself into a sitting position. Her breathing was heavy, like someone trying to suppress tears, which was exactly what she was trying to do. Neal slid across the dark room and sat next to the detective.

"I think this is the part where I'm supposed to tell you that it's going to be okay, and you don't have to cry," Neal said softly, putting an arm around Ava.

"Has anyone ever told you your bedside manner's terrible?" Ava asked, laughing a little through the tears.

"Actually, my bedside manner is quite impressive. That was gallows humor, which I still have to work on a little bit apparently." He turned to look at Ava, who was smiling, though her eyes were still brimming with tears.

"I'm engaged," she said suddenly, "And I have a daughter who I might never see again. Just this morning, or yesterday morning by now, I thought I'd be going home to have dinner with them, and then tucking my daughter into bed." Her voice cracked and Neal pulled her closer.

"I have a girlfriend," he said, "And I haven't seen her since she pretended to break up with me because someone's holding her captive, and I have to figure out who. And I am not going to die in this hellhole before I can save her." Turning around so that he could face her, he grabbed her arms. "You will see your family again and I will see mine, you got that?" Brushing away the tears, Ava nodded. "Alright, now we've got maybe fifteen minutes before the thug twins come back in here. Do you think you have any chance at all of taking at least one of them down?"

Ava looked around the room, "I think I can come up with something."

***

"So we know they went south," Peter said, looking at a map that was laying on the hood of his car, "call the Bureau and tell them to focus on the cameras in that direction."

"Already done," Jones said, "they've got the footage; all we have to do is wait."

"Yeah, that's the part I have a problem with," Lauren mumbled as she stared at the map. "There's got to be a clue as to where Gadson went somewhere on here."

"No need," Tanner said as she walked towards the others. "Morgan just called me, they found the car on the video, and he can direct us to where it was headed while we drive."

"Alright, everybody, be ready to move within three minutes," Peter said, "Tanner, you're with me."

***

Brains and Brawn returned more quickly than Neal had expected, apparently he wasn't good at keeping track of time while half unconscious. Brains automatically moved towards Neal, gesturing that he stand up, while Brawn kept an eye on Ava. Neal kept his hands behind his back as he stood, keeping up the pretense that he still had cuffs on. As Brains moved to grab Neal by the shoulder, Ava leapt up from where she was sitting and wrapped her cuffs around his neck.

Brains began gasping and grabbing for the cuffs, but Ava held tight. Using the man's surprise to her advantage, she kicked him in the back of the leg, bringing him to his knees. She turned his body so that he was a human shield between her and Brawn, blocking the punch the second man threw her way.

Brain's face was turning blue as Ava lashed a foot out from behind him and caught Brawn in the side of the head. He stumbled back and fell over, and Neal grabbed the man's arms and cuffed him. Ava threw Brains down onto the floor, unconscious. Panting heavily, she tossed the restraints to Neal who cuffed the unconscious man.

Ava ran to the door and peered out, "It's all clear," she said over her shoulder.

"Ladies first," Neal said, joining her in the doorway and gesturing into the hall.

***

**Yay! This update took much less time than I expected, which makes me happy. I hope you enjoyed it, because I liked writing it!**


	9. Chapter 9

The hallway was empty in both directions as Ava and Neal crept along the wall. Neither of them had any idea of where they were going, but both figured that they were going the right direction if they were going away from their cell. Ava tried to remember which way she'd been taken after being paraded for the FBI, but like before, all of the corridors looked exactly the same.

There were very few doors lining any of the hallways, but Neal pressed his ears against the ones they came across, listening for sounds of life. Ava had told him about the little girl she had seen while being dragged down the hallway, and Neal was determined to find her, her family if she had any, and all of the other people Mitchell Gadson had carted to America like cattle.

Ava noticed Neal's efforts and smiled. The man certainly had a big heart, regardless of being a criminal.

Before long, the duo heard loud footsteps coming their way. Neal knew they had been lucky until then not to run into anyone, and the luck had to run out some time. He stopped and held up a hand to Ava, who stopped too. Looking around the hallway, he caught sight of a door a few steps forward on the opposite side of the hallway. Dragging Ava by the hand, he silently rushed towards the door and pulled out his paper clip. Luckily, Gadson hadn't invested much in keeping people out of rooms, just keeping them in, and the door opened easily. Neal and Ava slipped into the dark room just as the footsteps rounded the corner.

Waiting for the footsteps to pass, Ava wished, not for the first time, the one of the two guards who had come into her cell had been armed. It would have made her much more at ease walking around a complex crawling with Gadson's men.

***

Mitchell Gadson was not having a good day. Three of his attempts to sell his stolen paintings had failed, thanks to the Feds searching every corner of the Northeastern states for him. As he thought about it, kidnapping a detective and pretending to kill a Federal Agent was beginning to look like an even stupider idea.

But he couldn't turn back time and Mitchell had decided to make the best of this awful situation. Neal Caffrey had who knows how much in stolen goods stashed away, and if there was anyone who could break the conman, it was James Mason. If life hands you lemons, as the saying went.

Leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed, Mitchell was just beginning to believe that maybe this whole situation wasn't completely FUBAR when James barged into his office. The man was excellent when it came to making other people talk, but he seemed unconcerned with everyday manners such as knocking.

"What?" Mitchell groaned, rubbing his temples furiously.

"Sir, two of your men were late in retrieving Neal Caffrey for me, so I went to check on him and," James held up a pair of handcuffs, "he and Detective Hannigan were gone and the men restrained."

Mitchell slammed his hand on his desk with such force that it knocked over a cup of pens and made James jumped. "How the hell did this happen?" He screeched venomously.

James recovered from his surprise and slipped into an emotionless expression that he often used during interrogation. "The men said that Mr. Caffrey had a seizure while they were bringing him back to his cell, I believe he may have slipped a set of keys from one of their pockets."

Mitchell shook his head, "Only you and I have those keys, I wouldn't trust them to hired hands for just this reason." His accent was becoming stronger, making him almost impossible to understand, as always happened when he become worked up.

"Regardless, I am confident he was faking it. Somehow during that 'seizure' he gained access to a way of escape," James said.

"Well find him!" Gadson exclaimed vehemently, "And those two guards are of no further use to me, see to it that they are disposed of."

James nodded and exited the room as Gadson leaned back in his chair again. This time, there was no way of convincing himself that the situation would somehow get better. Now he had to settle for finding a way of salvaging at least a small fraction of the whole operation.

***

Silence descended upon the hallway as the footsteps faded away. Neal pulled Ava out of the room and they continued through the complex. He wanted to be out of the building by the time Gadson noticed anything, or at least before the man had time to put the place under lockdown. Moving as quickly and quietly as they could, he and Ava rushed through the maze of hallways looking for an exit, still checking at the doors for any signs of life.

"This has to be against fire and safety regulations," Neal muttered under his breath, "I haven't seen a window or door yet."

Neither Neal nor Ava noticed as a guard rounded the corner behind them. They did, however, notice the crackle of his radio as he pressed the button to report finding the escaped prisoners. Spinning around on her heels; Ava faced the man, who decided to abandon his radio for the gun strapped to his belt.

"If you come quietly, I promise to be nice," the man said sweetly, leering at her. "And maybe I can make your final hours a little more enjoyable."

That sent Ava over the edge. Masking the rage that was seething inside her, she stepped lightly towards the guard. "Maybe if I'd been given that offer before, I would have been a little bit more cooperative."

The guard smiled, relaxing the grip on his gun. "Well then…" His faced screwed up in pain as Ava kicked him in the groin, quickly followed by a fist in the face. He dropped the gun, which Ava quickly picked up and pressed against the man's temple.

"You alright?" Neal asked, walking up behind her.

"Yeah, fine." Ava turned her attention back to the man. "Now start talking or I plaster your grey matter all over this hallway."

The man turned white and threw his hands up in surrender. "I'll tell you whatever you want, just don't shoot me."

"Where are the people, Gadson's human cargo?" Neal asked angrily. "And where's the exit?"

The man pointed towards the hallway to the right. "Down there, turn left, fourth door on the right. That's where he keeps them." He switched hands and pointed down the hallway to the left. "Straight down the hallway, about two hundred meters, there's a door that leads out into a garage. At the other end of the garage is a door leading out."

"Someone doesn't want to make it easy to escape," Neal spat. "Sounds like we'd better get going."

"Wait, if you leave me here…" He never got a chance to finish as Ava whipped the butt of the pistol against his head. He slumped over unconscious.

"Should have thought about that before you joined up with a murderous bastard," Ava said as she rushed after Neal down the hall.

***

"Morgan's got the coordinates where the car stopped." Tanner relayed to Peter as he drove down a winding back road. "Turn left and get onto the highway in about five miles. About fifteen miles after that, there's an exit leading to an old warehouse, leased under the name Lance Goldsmith, which incidentally spells Mitchell Gadson when you put the words in a blender."

"What an interesting coincidence," Peter said, on the verge of laughing. "Alright, call Jones and tell him. Also, we'll need a team of agents."

"Alright," Tanner said as she made the calls. After the FBI and NYPD had been informed, and a SWAT team had been sent out, Tanner dialed the phone again, this time dropping her voice. "Hi," she said into the phone, "Tell Derek we've got a lead on Ava, and as far as we can tell, his fiancé is still alive."

"I didn't know Detective Hannigan was engaged," Peter said offhandedly, glancing at Tanner.

"The wedding was supposed to be in two weeks," Tanner replied, "although I don't know how that's going to play out now."

"Well let's make sure that your detective is home in time to walk down the aisle," Peter said, pressing down on the gas pedal.

***

Neal practically flung himself at the door the guard had told them the prisoners lay behind. He picked the lock in record time and kicked it in. It took his eyes a few seconds to adjust to the near darkness inside, although he almost wished blindness would come back when he could see inside.

"Damn," Ava whispered from behind him.


	10. Chapter 10

There must have been at least fifty people inside a room fit for no more than twenty-five. All of the occupants were standing, packed like sardines, with no room to move at all. The smell emanating from the room was staggering and Neal had to fight back a gag reflex. Each and every person had a dead look in their eyes, the look a person gets when there's no hope left for them.

"Alright everyone." Ava stepped into the doorway, taking charge immediately. The people looked up at her in surprise, and it occurred to Neal that it was unlikely that any of them spoke English. However, they seemed to understand when Ava gestured out the door hurriedly and said, "Let's get out of here."

The children got the message first, scrambling for the door and pulling their parents behind them. Others began to trickle out, with Ava urging them on from behind. It took longer than Neal would have liked, but soon everyone was clustered in the hallway. Ava pushed her way to the front and began motioning for them to follow her. Neal stayed behind, making sure the stragglers kept up. The group passed the unconscious guard at the crossroads of the hallways and Ava kept on towards the exit he'd pointed out. Towards freedom.

***

Peter pulled off the highway onto a dirt road with pot holes lining either side. The FBI issued sedan bounced down the road, lurching the passengers inside around, but otherwise the ride was uneventful. There were no guards posted anywhere along the route, in fact, there were no obvious signs of life anywhere.

A warehouse appeared in the horizon as the sound of tires approached from behind. Peter glanced back in his rearview mirror to see four cars driving behind him. Jones was sitting in the driver's seat of the first one.

"Calvary's arrived," Peter said, pulling to a stop in front of the warehouse.

***

"Dammit!" Mitchell Gadson threw his phone across the room as James walked into the room, a dour expression on his face. "Five cars just pulled up in front of the warehouse. The FBI just landed on our doorstep." James remained silent, staring at his boss. "What is it?" Mitchell asked angrily.

"The room holding our cargo has been breached," James said, masking his discontent, "I've sent a team to that area and am waiting to hear back from them."

Reaching under his desk, Mitchell grabbed a rifle and aimed it towards James, "You mean to tell me that not only have Caffrey and Hannigan escaped, but now they've stolen my property?"

"That sounds about right," James answered, looking anywhere but at his boss.

"Damn it!" Mitchell fired a shot into the wall, his eyes wild. "Round up the rest of security who haven't been outwitted by Mr. Caffrey. We'll meet them outside."

"Mitchell, the FBI is out there," James said cautiously, "we should think this through."

"You think this through," Mitchell snarled, "I'm ending this."

***

Peter watched the building through binoculars, looking for any type of movement. His gut told him to run into the building, guns blazing, but his training told him that would only get people killed, not save them, so he held still in the car. There was no doubt that the FBI's presence had not gone unnoticed, but he didn't want to bring any unwanted attacks on his agents until he was good and ready to fight Gadson. Tanner was on the phone with Detective Rodriguez who was in one of the FBI cars parked behind them, telling him to hold off on calling in the police department. Any more arrivals would only spook Gadson and whoever else was inside more.

"Got a plan?" Tanner asked as she put her cell into her pocket.

"I'm working on it," Peter answered, just as the door to the warehouse began opening.

***

Neal heard the door creaking open from behind the large group of people. The rush of fresh air, sweeping out the staleness of the warehouse was like a breath from God. Never again would he take the outdoors for granted.

"Alright, single file, single file!" Ava called from the front of the mass of people. Slowly they began moving out the door and into the sunlight. Many of the people were squinting in pain; after living under poor, fluorescent lighting for so long, real sunlight felt like daggers.

Neal carefully herded everyone out the door, watching behind himself for any guards. The complete emptiness of the hallway made him ill at ease. Gadson had to know something was happening; the entire facility should already be flooded with gun-toting goons. _Never assume your enemies are that stupid_, Neal reminded himself as he pushed the people harder outside.

***

Ava came out the door first, followed by a mass of the sorriest, dirtiest looking people Peter had ever seen. Tanner immediately grabbed the radio in Peter's car and ordered every medical unit in the area to the scene. They were going to have their hands full with all of the people in the crowd.

Anxiously, Peter scanned the crowd for Neal. His partner was nowhere to be seen, but the people were still pouring out of the building. Ava motioned them onwards, but some began to hesitate, seeing the numerous cars parked outside the complex, and quite a few FBI agents pointing their guns towards the building.

"Lower your weapons," Peter shouted back to the agents. "We don't want to spook them."

The people in the crowd who had hesitated watched as the agents re-holstered their weapons and took a much less intimidating stance. Still wearing the looks of cornered animals, they nevertheless began moving away from the door again, and as the last of them trickled out, Peter caught sight of the one person he thought he'd never see again. He was beaten almost beyond recognition, and his clothes were dirty and in tatters, but a hint of his old smile still lingered on Neal's face, and that smile grew wider as he caught sight of the FBI cars.

Shutting the door behind him, Neal turned and waved at Peter, who waved back. Never in his life did Peter think he'd be this relieved to see a conman alive and well.

"Alright people," Peter yelled to the agents around him, "It looks like we've got our work cut out for us. Medical assistance is on the way, but chances are they'll need our help. Detective Johnson will help you organize the people into groups and if you can, start taking down names and where they're from."

No one needed to be told twice. Tanner started shouting directions towards the agents who immediately began moving towards the refugees. Seeing that the situation was in good hands, Peter turned his attention to Neal. The conman looked dead on his feet, but was somehow managing to drag himself across the lot and remain upright while doing so.

Motion on the other end of the building caught Peter's eye. A small sliver of black appeared on the wall, growing larger and larger. A door had been built into the wall; it was almost invisible. Mitchell Gadson emerged from the dark warehouse, already aiming a large rifle at his target. Neal.

"Neal, get down," Peter shouted.

Neal looked at him questioningly and shrugged. Peter looked anxiously at the other agents for help, but they were too absorbed with the crowd of people to notice Gadson. He tried to warn Neal again, but the crack of a rifle firing cut him short.

***

Neal could barely see through the haze of exhaustion that had descended on him. The pavement was tilting left and right, and it took all of his strength to keep his feet on the ground. He looked towards his partner to see Peter's lips moving, but over the noise of the large crowd of the people all trying to talk at once, he couldn't make out what Peter was saying.

He lifted his arms, signaling that he couldn't understand, and Peter looked around frantically. Too late, Neal realized that Peter was trying to warn him of something, just as a rifle shot rang out.

***

It didn't hurt, that was the first thing Neal noticed. It was a strange sort of numbness where he knew he should be in agony, but his brain didn't seem to have gotten the message. The second thing he noticed was that the ground was strangely getting closer, and suddenly he was laying down, half on his side. There were muffled voices around him as Peter appeared in his line of vision. Neal tried to form words, but the signal was getting lost somewhere between his brain and his mouth.

***

"Neal, look at me!" Peter ordered as he crouched over his partner. Neal's eyes were darting around wildly, and Peter knew shock was setting in, if it hadn't already. Peter grabbed Neal's hand and squeezed, it was ice cold. "C'mon, don't give up on me yet! You've given me way too much trouble just to die on me now!"

The conman's eyes finally locked onto Peter's and Neal squeezed Peter's hand back, before his eyes drooped shut and his fingers went limp.

***

**Yeah, I'm evil, I know ;P**

**Sorry for the long wait for the update, I blame jazz band, homework, AP classes, symphony, and Griffie. So this will be one of the last chapters, Yay! Almost done... and I'm not telling you if anyone dies until I post the next chapter...so until the next time.  
**


	11. Chapter 11

Peter shivered and wrapped his coat tighter around him as he skirted the marble gravestones around him. The funeral procession was slowly making its way away from the gravesite, with mourners stopping to reminisce with each other. Letting the other people pass around him, Peter stopped and looked back at the coffin being lowered into the ground. The clouds covering the sky only served to make the grave look even lonelier.

Turning away, Peter walked towards the black car parked between several other FBI issue vehicles. Elizabeth was leaning against the car with concern etched over her face and Peter understood that he must look like hell. During the last week the few times he'd been able to fall asleep had been just as bad as being awake, every time he closed his eyes he was back at the warehouse, with chaos breaking out all around him. He could still hear the screams clear as day if he let his mind wander.

Elizabeth wrapped an arm around his shoulder and pulled him close. "Are you okay?" She asked quietly, even though she full well knew the answer.

"Not even close," Peter answered truthfully, "But it's getting better."

"Come on." She pulled the car door open. "I'm driving."

"Elizabeth, I just want to go home," Peter said, sensing that home was not where they were headed.

"Home is the last place you need to be right now. You need to remember that that," she gestured back to the gravesite behind her, "Is not your fault. You need to move on or this guilt trip you are putting yourself through is going to kill you."

Peter remained silent, staring out the window. As much as he wanted to forget, he didn't know if he ever would. Some moments just couldn't be erased from his memory.

***

_ "Come on Neal, look at me!" Peter pleaded anxiously as he felt his partner's blood soaking through his hand. Around him, every agent had pulled his or her gun and was opening fire on the stream of guards flowing from the building. The crowd of refugees was running in panic, all of the civilians taking cover wherever they could, many running into the trees surrounding the complex._

_ Peter couldn't see Gadson anywhere in the confusion of the firefight, but another man was approaching, ignoring the bullets flying around him, focusing all of his attention on Neal and Peter. Peter saw his hand go to the holster on his side, but before he could pull his gun Peter fired twice, hitting the man twice in the chest. _

_ Turning back to Neal, Peter saw that his partner's breathing was becoming more and more labored, and he could barely find a pulse. It seemed to take eons for the ambulances to arrive, and Peter couldn't help but wonder if they were already too late._

***

The inside of the church was loud, the noise amplified by the echoing through the large sanctuary. Ava pushed her way out of the crowd of people, her head was about ready to explode and all of the people shouting directions to her and each other were not helping.

Outside was cold and gray, but for now it was quiet, and that was what she needed. She collapsed heavily on the stoop and caught her head in her hands.

Crowds and loud noises were often quickly proceeded by panic attacks and hyperventilating now, and Ava didn't know how long it would be before she was able to walk through the mall or go to a concert without having to find a quiet room to catch her breath.

***

_Instinct took over as the crack of a rifle sounded. Ava pushed her way through the crowd towards the door Gadson had appeared out of. Before she knew it, she was firing at the man, some of the bullets flying wide, others hitting their mark. In no time at all, her clip was empty and Gadson was lying on the pavement. Around her she heard the telltale clicks of guns being reloaded. Agents were firing into the crowd of guards and the men coming out of the building were firing back. The agents were better marksmen, and the crowd of attackers was quickly diminishing, but Ava heard screams from behind telling her that some of their people, be it FBI or the civilians, had been hit._

_ One by one, the men threw down their weapons and put their hands up in surrender. Apparently Gadson wasn't paying the men well enough to risk their lives for him._

_ She felt lightheaded. A person could only run on adrenaline for so long before burning out. She had every intention of laying down in the back of a squad car and taking a well deserved nap when she noticed one of the ambulances that had arrived pulling away from the others. It was then that she noted Neal was nowhere to be seen, and at the edge of the crowd, an agent was leaning over a prone form._

_ It was like running through a dream, or a nightmare. She reached the agent as the paramedics pulled the body onto the stretcher and a small sob escaped her. Neal was pale as ice, and there was so much blood on the ground, she couldn't believe he was still alive. The paramedics worked as quickly as they could to get Neal into the ambulance. One of them said something to her, but she was too in shock to hear them._

_ "M'am," the man repeated, "Are you riding or not?"_

_ Ava nodded and climbed into the van. It looked like adrenaline was going to have to carry her a bit longer._

_***_

As her head cleared, Ava looked around at the church courtyard. The wedding flowers and white balloons looked oddly out of place against the stormy sky, their bright, clean colors shining brightly in contrast to the dark surrounding them.

_I suppose there's some kind of cosmic metaphor for this_, Ava thought, smirking a little. _I never was very good with metaphors though_.

With that she pushed herself off the step and turned back towards the heavy oak doors. The bridesmaids were probably having panic attacks of their own; Ava was missing and she was supposed to be getting married in a little less than three hours.

***

Elizabeth put the car in park in front of a large, white church decorated with balloons and flowers in varying degrees of pink. She pushed her door open and glanced over at Peter, "Here we are."

"So what, going to a wedding is automatically going to cure me?" Peter asked sardonically, stepping out of the car.

"There's someone you need to talk to." Elizabeth said. She locked the car behind her and began walking towards the church.

"I already talked to Detective Hannigan. She was at the debriefing."

"Although I'll admit it wouldn't hurt to talk to Ava in a location without FBI agents and cops recording your every word, that's not who I was talking about."

"I lost four agents," Peter said angrily, "and you want me to talk to some person at a wedding?"

"First of all, what happened wasn't your fault. They were good agents but if it hadn't been for you, a lot more people could have been hurt. Second off, this isn't just for you, he needs to talk too."

Peter could tell that Elizabeth wasn't going to back down, so he let himself be led through the oak doors into the pre-wedding chaos.

***

The woman looking back from the mirror reminded Ava nothing of herself, she had on blush giving much needed color to her cheeks, and her eyes were lined with a subtle blue eyeliner and light eye-shadow, garnishes she had never bothered with. Her hair had been twisted and pulled for the better part of an hour, and a net of pearls decorated the finished product. Finally, she had been pushed into a tight, white strapless dress. That was taking the most getting used to, seeing as she hadn't worn a dress since her senior prom.

"Stunning," a voice said from behind her. Ava whirled around to see a familiar dark figure leaning against the doorway. His voice sounded strained, but Ava could tell he meant it.

"I thought you were supposed to be in the hospital."

"And miss the wedding of the woman who saved my life?" Neal asked, coming into the light of the room. "Not a chance."

He moved slowly, and his arm was in a sling to keep the stitches from tearing, but he looked a hundred times better than when Ava had seen him a few days before at the hospital.

Ava resisted the urge to hug him. After being held hostage with him for more than a day, and then waiting another twenty-four hours at the hospital while the doctors tried to save him, she was glad to see Neal somewhere they wouldn't be shot at or tortured. "Did you charm your way out against the doctor's orders just to see me in a dress?"

Neal flashed a smile, but his expression turned serious again, "No, I wanted to see you get your happy ending."

Ava didn't know what to say, tears crept into her eyes and she turned away to brush them off. When she turned back, Neal tossed her a long, rectangular box.

"What's this?" She asked, looking up at him.

"Wedding present, you can open it now or later. It's up to you." Neal said, as he turned and walked out of the room.

Ava slid the bow off and pulled off the top of the box and gasped. Inside was an envelope containing round trip tickets to Hawaii and a paper detailing the reservations at a five star hotel. The note underneath read, _Have fun on your honeymoon. I tried to pick a place without crazy, murderous art thieves._

***

"Is this seat taken?"

Peter looked up to see Neal standing at the end of the pew, looking uncomfortable. Peter shook his head silently and turned back towards the front of the church. Neal slid onto the bench and sat silently, staring up at the crucifix above the altar. His eyes were distant, and Peter could tell he was lost in thought.

"Shouldn't you still be at the hospital?" Peter asked, breaking the awkward silence, "I thought you weren't being released for three more days."

"Well, there was this one nurse who is a huge romantic, and I happened to mentioned that there was a wedding today that I should be attending." Neal said, smirking a little. Peter couldn't help but smile, only Neal could charm his way out of a hospital six days after having a lung punctured by a bullet.

"You should be resting," Peter said seriously.

"I've been resting for close to a week, the last thing I need is more rest. And crappy hospital food is beginning to wear on my nerves. I hear weddings have much better cuisine."

"Elizabeth did say that the caterer for the wedding was good."

"I also wanted to make sure that you were still alive." Neal was deadly serious, and Peter could hear the hurt in his voice.

"I've been busy," Peter answered evasively. "The whole thing's been a mess at the Bureau, and we've been relocating the people Gadson brought over-"

"Bull," Neal said, looking Peter in the eye. "If you're going to avoid me, at least have the courtesy to tell the truth."

"I didn't think you'd want to see me."

Neal looked at him in disbelief. "Are you kidding me? You think I blame you? That's the most asinine thing I've ever heard. If it weren't for you, I'd be dead, and so would a lot more people."

"Tell that to the agent whose funeral I went to this morning. Or the three others who died on that raid."

"I'm sorry, and I know you feel guilty about what happened, but it's not your fault. You can't beat yourself up over what happened. It was Mitchell Gadson's fault; he pulled the trigger and started all of this. Not you."

"That's easy for you to say-"

Neal cut him off, looking angry. "You think I haven't lost sleep over what happened? It was because of me and Ava that you and those other agents were at the warehouse. Gadson shot me, and that's what set off the firefight. And yeah, sometimes I can't help but blame myself for what happened, and maybe a part of me always will. But I don't want to live in the past, I want to move on. Because those agents didn't die so that I could lock myself in a room and hate myself for what happened."

Peter was surprised; it hadn't occurred to him that Neal might blame himself for what happened. He had spent the last week faulting solely himself for the outcome at the warehouse, refusing to accept any other explanation for what had happened other than the fact that it had been his fault.

"Please, you wouldn't last one day locked in a room by yourself. There'd be nothing to steal and no one for you to flirt with," Peter said finally in a weak attempt at a joke.

Neal snorted and punched Peter lightly on the arm, "Yeah, you're probably right."

"I'm sorry I didn't visit you," Peter said, but Neal's response was cut off as the organ began playing.

Peter watched in silence as Ava made her way up the aisle. The wedding procession moved slowly towards the front of the church, as Elizabeth quietly slid next to Peter. She squeezed his hand and he smiled at her.

"You're welcome," she mouthed, as the minister began to speak.

Neal watched as Ava and her fiancé said their vows, as the ring bearer brought up the gold bands, as the minister pronounced them husband and wife. The elation on Ava's face was almost blinding, and in some ways, that one moment, made it all worth it.

_  
This is to one last day in the shadows,  
And to know a brothers love,  
This is to New York City angels,  
And the rivers of our blood,  
This is to all of us,  
To all of us._

_"Angels on the Moon" ~ Thriving Ivory_

*******

**A/N- Wow, this is the first story I've finished, and this was probably the hardest chapter I had to write. I have at least three versions of this saved on my computer, and have been wondering how to end this for the last week! Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed, that totally kept me writing faster!**

**BTW: I have a sequel idea, which also has Ava in it. Let me know if you liked the character, and I'll start writing as soon as I can.**

**(C'mon, you didn't really think I'd kill Neal, did you?)  
**


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